


Missing Pieces

by writeme



Category: The Gifted (TV 2017)
Genre: Comfort, F/M, Pain, Sadness, compassion - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-09-27
Packaged: 2019-03-13 10:16:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13568475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writeme/pseuds/writeme
Summary: Thunderblink: John Proudstar has been a great leader for most of his life. He is strong and sturdy, smart and compassionate, logical and reasonable. But there was always a missing piece for him, something that didn't make sense. Until Clarice came along.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter 1 is comprised of two different Thunderblink scenes I felt were missing from the finale episode. Please read and review if you'd like more, and if I get enough response I would love to add more chapters!

“Clarice.” 

Her name was such a soft whisper on his lips that she wasn’t sure if she’d heard it or imagined it in her state of shock. Then, his fingers brushed gently over hers in the back seat of the slick black SUV that Esme was currently flooring towards the safe house provided by the Hellfire Club. 

It was then she realized her heart was beating loudly in her ears. Her fingers twitched at the unexpected contact, but softened almost immediately at the equally as unexpected tenderness with which his thumb stroked over the back of her hand. She barely remembered creating the portal to get them out of there, but the feeling of John’s strong arms around her had made it easier than usual to find the strength. 

Tense silence radiated from the front seat. Esme brewed in quiet contempt about their failure to secure Campbell. Marcos stewed in his own disbelief that the Cuckoo sisters had honestly expected them to sacrifice the lives of innocent human children for the sake of completing their already morally questionable mission. And worse was that Lorna had agreed with them. They exchanged several dirty looks and sighs that served as the only soundtrack of the drive back other than the dull hum of the engine as it sped down back roads.

Tension filled the backseat as well, but in a different way. So much remained unspoken between the pair and would likely remain so for quite awhile. Clarice turned from the window finally to let her jade eyes meet John’s darker ones. There was so much she wanted to say to him right now. Especially as the shock of the events that had unfolded in the past half hour finally started to wear off and the memories came back in bits in pieces to form a composite image in her mind. She turned her hand over underneath his so they were palm to palm and although she immediately missed the soothing circular motions he’d been tracing against her skin, she found just as much comfort in lacing their fingers together and offering him a gentle squeeze. For a moment they just looked at one another; eyes searching to make sure the other was really okay. 

John was used to worrying about others. As a leader of the Underground, it was part of the job description. However, he was usually equally as good at keeping people at arm’s length. He would do anything to protect his people, but he was also careful to not get too emotionally attached to them. The way he worried about Clarice was different. Carnal. Instinctive. He didn’t have a choice when it came to caring deeply for her. The feelings, it seemed, were just there. He needed her to be okay, maybe more than he needed to be okay himself. It terrified and exhilarated him all at once.

Clarice on the other hand wasn’t used to worrying about anyone other then herself. She was used to being on her own. To be quite honest, she was good at it. On some levels, she preferred it. As her eyes searched his she couldn’t help but smirk as a moment of realization hit her. Largely in part to meeting John and joining the cause, she’d found herself more in danger than ever before in the last few weeks yet she’d also never felt safer. It seemed oxy moronic, really, but she had a sneaking suspicion the complex nature of this situation would cease to exist if John weren’t a part of the equation. 

The smile that had played briefly at her lips garnered a quizzical look from him. But, as she opened her mouth to clue him in, the SUV came to a stop and instead, she squeezed his hand once more, a promise of an explanation yet to come.

\--------------------------------------------------

They’d been back at the safe house over an hour before they finally found a moment alone. Marcos and the blondes had hashed it out for a while with John trying to be the voice of reason. That had ended with a mess of slamming doors and a lot of shouting. 

Sometime after, Lorna had come to the room John and Marcos had been sharing and he’d taken his cue to leave as more of an excuse to have some time alone with Clarice. He moved the short distance down the hall to knock gently on the door Lorna had just left from. 

Cautious not to say come in and unknowingly invite one of the telepath sisters in to pick her brain, Clarice had opted to walk to the door and pull it open slightly to reveal who was there before allowing them in. Much to her delight, instead of finding one of the immaculately dressed fair-haired clones, she saw the man who’d made her heart flutter and breath catch since before Dreamer’s pink smoke had ever come in to the picture. Wordlessly, she pulled the door back more and then stepped away, allowing him to come in and close the door behind him. 

Suddenly, now that they were alone, and despite the fact that they had so much to say to each other, Clarice found herself struggling to find her words. Where to start? She swallowed hard, her tongue peeking out to wet her dry lips. She cleared her throat lamely, but nothing came out.

He wore strong and silent well; that was true. But words of wisdom were also John Proudstar’s specialty and yet just like his female counterpart, he found himself silenced in this moment. He crossed the room to stand in front of her, his tall frame towering over hers. He too had things he wanted to say, but instead, he leaned down, pressing his forehead against hers and closing his eyes, breathing her in. Talking was important, of course. But for a moment, he just wanted to be with her. After everything they’d gone through, not just today, they deserved the respite.

Her hands came up to rest behind his neck and she leaned up on her tiptoes, to create more closeness between them. Her own eyes closed as the fingers of her right hand tangled themselves into the hair at the base of his neck. “John.” It was her turn to let his name fall from her lips in an almost silent whisper. 

The breathiness of her voice caused his eyes to blink twice and then flutter back open briefly and though he’d fully intended for them to have a conversation about everything that had just gone down, his lips had other plans. His hands joined their mission as well and in one fell swoop, he was cupping her face and bringing his lips down to capture hers.

This kiss was much slower and more romantic than their first, less restrained. His left hand dropped from her cheek to wrap around her waist and draw her against him, deepening the kiss as he did. It was amazing what could transpire when a life altering kidnapping mission wasn’t threatening to ruin the moment. They both could have allowed themselves to get lost in that kiss indefinitely, but it was Clarice who finally pulled back. “Definitely real.” She confirmed her earlier assertion, breathless and panting. 

A genuine smile grew on his lips. “Very real.” He agreed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, and then leaning to press a chaste kiss to her forehead, pulling her against him into a tight bear hug. “You’re safe.” He whispered into her violet hair. Though, he said it as much for his own sake as for hers. 

“Thanks to you.” She whispered, her hands sliding under the hem of his t-shirt, daring to traverse the strong muscular back that had shielded her from the bullets that so easily could’ve ended her life. “Are you okay?” She asked, her fingers could feel the heat radiating from the spots on his back that she assumed must’ve been bruises from the bullets that had torn his jacket and button down but thankfully not him. 

“I’m always okay.” He promised, his eyes fluttering closed slightly at the feel of her light touches against the sensitive skin on his back. What a loaded statement that was.

“No one who has gone through what you have gone through is ever okay.” She corrected and he was too tired and her statement was too accurate for him to argue. They shared a quiet look of understanding and he wished just for a moment that such pain and loss wasn’t one of their commonalities.

Instead of trying to disagree, he responded with, “Physically,” amending his own statement so it reflected some truth, at least. Still, his statement failed to satisfy her.

“Let me see.” It wasn’t a demand, but it was too firm to be considered a request. Clarice also made little effort to wait for a response and much to his chagrin she pulled away from him, and he instantly missed the warmth of contact. When he didn’t move at first she added a softer, “Please,” and though he hated to be so vulnerable, if it ever felt right to be so, it was with her.

Against his nature, he tugged his shirt over his head, complying to her want. Clarice couldn’t help but take a moment to hungrily take in his Adonic form, her fingers reaching out to trace down his muscular chest before she could stop herself. A slight blush tinted her cheeks at her blatant gaping and she cleared her throat and moved around to face his back, happy to escape the amused look on his face at her gawking for the moment.

The happiness was short lived though as her eyes widened, taking in the bruised flesh, four distinct points of contact that would’ve been fatal to her if he hadn’t—her breath caught in her throat at the thought. “John…” There was that breathless whisper again; her voice so soft and small was his kryptonite.

He turned around to face her once again, “I’d take a hundred more if it meant you were safe.” He admitted honestly, looking into her eyes. His words took her aback in the best way. Yet, her eyes were full of sadness that he’d endured that pain for her. “It’ll hurt me a day or two max and then I’m good as new.” He promised, knowing she was already feeling guilty dealing with the fact that he was hurt, at least in her eyes, because of her. He longed to tell her that without her he wasn’t sure any of this would be worth it, but that was for too intense for the small amount of time they’d known each other and he didn’t want to overwhelm her, or himself for that matter, so instead he went with; “Besides, Zingo would never forgive me if anything happened to you…” He added blithely, to his delight, it earned him a smile. 

His words proved that he knew her so well already. The thought made a lump form in her throat but she forced a smile anyway. His words did overwhelm her, because she’d never felt so valued before. In spite of herself, tears threatened to spill from her eyes, which had become glossy at his opening statement. Welcoming his window of lighthearted escape she managed to push back the looming waterworks. “Well we can’t disappoint Zingo.” She grinned in gentle agreement, though her smile did falter slightly when he pulled his shirt back over his head.

“Maybe he can be your new warm jelly donut.” John suggested, an innocent smile playing at his lips as he instinctively reached for her, his fingers looping into one of her belt loops, drawing her towards him.

“I think you may have already replaced the donut.” Her smile broadened even as a slightly embarrassed blush tinted her cheeks at her honesty. His dimpled grin grew to match her own. “But keep in mind that it’s been a long time since I’ve eaten a warm jelly donut or even had the opportunity to have one, so you do have an unfair advantage.” Her smile turned into a smirk, dampening the sentimentality of her words ever so slightly.

“Are you telling me you’d pick a jelly donut over me, Clarice?” An amused look played on his features, though he did his best to feign offense.

“No of course not!” She defended, pulling him against her this time, popping back up to her tiptoes, looking very seriously at him. “Only time I pick the jelly donut over you is if it’s warm.” She winked, dissolving into a giggle.  
He joined in with her teasing laughter, “As much as that hurts, I can kind of understand that. And part of me doesn’t blame you.” His eyes were alight with a misplaced playfulness that matched hers. He needed this reprieve from the constant stress and worry of running the Underground, protecting his people, making the tough calls, trying to stay two steps ahead of Sentinel Services, it was all becoming too much. The recollection of all this had his eyes on the verge of darkening with seriousness now, but she wasn’t ready for that just yet, and neither was he.  
“What’s your warm jelly donut?” Her voice managed to cut through the mounting stressors that threatened to bring them back to reality.

He let the amusement come back to his eyes and his considered her question for a moment. “I mean had there been a deep dish pepperoni pizza there when they were shooting at us I may have had a tough decision to make…” He teased, but his actions failed to align with his words as he moved his hand up to tangle in her hair once more and his lips captured hers once again.

They allowed themselves this quiet escape just a little longer. Their lips moving against each other with a practiced ease already. His hand not already occupied by her purple tresses moved so his thumb could brush the bottom half of the lilac diamond surrounding her eye. “There is so much uncertainty.” He whispered against her lips, but he pressed them to hers once more, interrupting his own thoughts for a moment. “Everything is so messy and complicated.” Admitting these things out loud brought him a surprising amount of ease. “Except for this…” That part of his confession made him feel weightless for a moment and he drew back, his hands dropping to her shoulders to pull back and look at her. “You’re all that makes sense to me right now Clarice,” His raw honesty surprised even him. “When you left and I came after you I tried to pretend it was because the Underground needed you. But, I needed you.” The words came flooding out now, as if a dam had broken. “I need you. I want you. I don’t know what that means or how we can be together at a time like this but--I can’t keep denying – “ John rarely stammered over his words and Clarice took great satisfaction in being the cause of it. “There is so little joy left in our lives, I won’t deny us this.” He finished, dropping his gaze to meet hers searchingly.

She smiled slightly at him, nodding in quiet understanding and agreement. She wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled herself to him, resting her head against his chest. They stayed like that another moment and John moved but she tightened her grip on his shirt. “Just a little longer.” Her voice was so small, yet commanding as it came out even more muffled as her face was buried into his chest. 

He smiled contently, more than happy to oblige her request.


	2. Chapter 2

John was quite sure he would be physically unable to handle any more loss at this point. After Sage had walked over to join Lorna, all the resolve he’d mustered up during their little strategizing pep talk had completely vanished. The Underground’s headquarters was destroyed and now they had nothing to go back to. How was he to keep his people safe when they lost everything they’d spent so long amassing for those exact purposes? His friends were giving up on what they had all worked so hard to build together. They were giving up on _him_. At least, that was how he felt and there was no convincing him otherwise.

 

An awkward silence hung around their temporary living space after the departure of the Hell Fire Club’s newest recruits. Although he still had a hard time fathoming that his friends had really left, abandoned the cause they’d invested so much time, effort, and energy into. On some level, he could understand the attraction. Their foray to capture Campbell had been a small taste of the luxuries many of them hadn’t seen in months or in some cases years. Real beds. Hot showers. A kitchen full of fresh food, waiting to be prepared. Clean clothes. Clean sheets. The list went on. Tempting as it was, the price that came with it was far too high for John. He’d stick with old rusty cots, dented cans of nonperishables, and cold showers if it meant he could keep his principles too.

 

He’d managed to avoid dealing with his feelings of resentment and sadness altogether by busying himself with finalizing sleeping arrangements, taking head count far more times than necessary, dividing supplies, and tending to the other various duties and responsibilities that always fell on his shoulders as leader. A role that seemed to have endless responsibilities yet reaped him little reward.

 

Clarice had stepped up into a leadership role in the past few weeks but tonight it was clear that it was more than just John who saw her that way. He’d taken note of how she’d taken charge of ‘making dinner’ that night, if you could really call the gaggle of young mutants she’d gotten to form an assembly line for making and distributing peanut butter sandwiches and bottles of water, ‘making dinner.’

 

A somber mood had remained most of the night and after dinner that was little to no complaining and grumbling about lights out. John had taken his leave outside to get some fresh air and he was leaned up against a pillar at the back entrance of the much too small building they would call home for only the next few days before they’d have to find a place more suited to their needs. He was drawn from his thoughts the moment he sensed movement inside their safe haven. He paused, tucked his hair behind his ear, and closed his eyes to listen. Focusing past the faint sounds of snores, coughs, and the groans of old cots, he heard footsteps. More specifically; he heard _her_ footsteps.

 

Mere moments later, the same door he’d come out of himself was opening again. Normally he’d have tried to hide the redness that rimmed his eyes but with her there was no use. “John…” There it was again, that way only she could say his name. The softness with which she spoke only seemed to come when she spoke that word specifically, as though it was the only word pure enough to merit such gentleness. This time, though, that specially reserved tenderness would be what finally caused him to fall apart.

 

He tried to stop it from happening; his efforts were valiant, honestly. But it was no use. His heart and head both knew they could trust her to take care of him and a person could only keep up so many walls at once, no matter how strong and indestructible they may be. Dark, tired eyes found hers across the way and brimmed with tears, resolve too weak to put on a brave face right now.

 

Her heart ached at the sight of him. How much he had been through in just the time she’d known him? How much he’d been through before she’d come along? She desired to know everything about him and she vowed in time to find out. For now, though, she knew it wasn’t the time for questions. Words weren’t what he needed. A different sort of comfort was required for this situation.

 

She closed the distance between them in a few short bounds and much like he had that awful day at the farmhouse for her, she drew him in for a comforting hug, abandoning the backpack she’d had slung over her right shoulder. Despite the vastness of him, he seemed small and almost delicate in her arms. The tears were silent but she could feel them warm and wet as they pooled at the place on her neck where he buried his face. Tears created a wet spot were the collar of her worn out band tee met soft skin, leaving a damp reminder of his sadness yet also of his unadulterated trust in her.

 

Her heart broke for him even more as she imagined how long it had been since he’d allowed himself to actually feel any of this sadness. He’d grown so used to pushing down his own wants, needs, and feelings for the greater good; he’d rarely had the time to feel anything anymore, much less process it.

 

One of her hands pressed to the back of his neck, keeping him close to her and the other came around his side to rest on his lower back, tracing up and down gently, grounding him. It prompted him to speak, to let her know he wasn’t completely broken here in her arms. “I’m alright, Clarice.” He strained through clenched teeth, willing those words to magically become true as he spoke them allowed. Neither of them believed him.

 

“You’re not alright.” She whispered quietly, her hold on him only tightening. It wasn’t the first time she’d tried to impress this fact upon him. The stress of leading this group of mutant misfits was stress enough to make a person not okay. But with losing Sonia and Gus and Lorna leaving with Sage? He had to stop pretending that wasn’t destroying him, there really was no use. Maybe he had to put on the big brave leader face for everyone else on the time, but not with her.

 

Before he could protest too much, she spoke again. “It’s okay that you’re not alright. You have been through so much. It’s okay if you can’t hold it together. I’ve fallen apart on you and you put me back together. You even found a few pieces I was missing.” She whispered into the side of his head. “Let me help you, I can take it.” Her words seemed to give him permission to feel everything that weight on his shoulders and heart more completely and he clung just a little tighter to her as his body wracked with quiet sobs.

 

Losing Gus the first time had been hard enough but seeing what Campbell had turned him in to? Seeing him perish covered in soot, lying amongst debris? He’d deserved so much better. He’d fought for and protected his country. He’d sacrificed so much, for so many. He was the guy who always had everyone else’s back. And when he needed John the most, he’d failed him.

 

Sonia deserved so much better. Even if his feelings for her had shifted long ago, the pain of losing her still shook him to his core. She was loyal to their cause until the end. She was loyal to him. She’d tried to defend the Strucker kids, sacrifice herself, and resist against Campbell. Sure she’d made her mistakes, especially when it came to Clarice. But her heart was in the right place. She was on the right side of this war. Yet, here she was, another victim of John’s inability to protect the one’s he cared about the most.

 

How many more of his friends’ lives would end in this senseless war? How many more people he loved would he be forced to lose? The thought made him want to push Clarice away, spare her from the storm of grief he seemed to cast like a spell on those around him. Instead, he drew her closer. The scent of whatever fancy shampoo the Cuckoo’s had provided at the safe house still lingered in her hair, the aroma of honey and orange intoxicating him. It was almost enough to distract him momentarily from the fact that this war hadn’t just taken his friends in death.

 

Lorna wasn’t dead but she was gone. Unlike Gus and Sonia, she’d chosen to leave him. To leave everything they’d worked so hard towards together, since the beginning. He was angry with her for being selfish, for leaving Marcos, for being tempted by the Frosts and the way they’d so easily colored her judgment. She’d taken Sage with her. She’d encouraged Andy to leave his family. The Lorna he knew and loved, the one who was his sister, she’d never have done that. But then, was she really the Lorna he knew when she and Reed had escaped from prison? All he knew was, she was some of the only family he had left and he would be damned if he didn’t fight for her.

 

These thoughts had overwhelmed him for far too long. As much as he hated showing such weakness to her, he couldn’t be more grateful to her at the same time. He let Clarice hold him for longer than he meant to. He appreciated that she’d given him silent support, let him work through what he needed uninterrupted. She’d been strong and steady just like he had been for her. When he pulled back, her eyes sought out his with such concern. “Talk to me, you can’t keep this all in, it’s too much for one person.”

 

He ran his hand through his hair and sighed, she was right, keeping it all was taking its toll. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d really slept. Physically and mentally he was exhausted, drained, and running on empty. “I’m…” He cast his weary eyes down, taking in a ragged breath. “I’m angry.” He offered, simply. He was pretty adept at giving advice, but talking about his own issues? You might as well have asked him to recite the Israeli alphabet backwards.

 

That wasn’t good enough for Clarice. “About?” She pressed him on, of course she knew, but there was also something very therapeutic about speaking these things out loud. He deserved the catharsis.

 

He clinched his jaw; it was hard to talk about these things, even with her. Yet, he felt compelled to go on and maybe he was pretending it was only for her sake. “I’m mad that Lorna left.” The words were stiff, but it was progress.

 

“Why?” She pressed further, and she saw the annoyance wrought into his chiseled face. She gave him a soft look and brought her thumb up to brush over his full bottom lip gently, tenderly. “For me?” She prompted, knowing that if he could convince himself he was doing this for her benefit and not his own, he was more likely to get it accomplished.

 

His defensed crumbled again. She was only trying to help after all. With a sharp breath he finally provided actual detail. “Because she left and she took Sage with her. She left everything we’ve built and she basically told everyone that it was dying and to jump ship while they had the chance.” Before he could stop the words from coming out he added, “And I’m angry at myself because a part of me knows that she isn’t entirely wrong.” He swallowed hard, his eyes pleaded with her not to keep pressing but as they searched her green ones they found only relentlessness.

 

She nodded, taking in everything he’d said. “Well I’ll tell you why I’m pissed. She walks in her with her badass outfit and flawless make up; clearly she has gone for the upgrade. Meanwhile, you, Marcos and I shared a sleeve of crackers as our breakfast and lunch on the way to this real gem of a way station so I’d say we sort of got the fuzzy end of the lollipop here. Good guys finishing last, once again. The trope is tired, really. Although I will say, it is nice to be with the good guys.” Her jesting tone waned though and her eyes met his and even if her words hadn’t been serious, the look in her eyes was. “Maybe we don’t have the fancy clothes and the comfortable beds. But we have each other’s backs and in the end that’s worth a lot more.”

 

She was attempting humor at first and she’d managed to crack a smile from her. However, it was the last part of her statement that had made his heart skip a beat. It also brought a stark realization to the forefront of his mind, “I was afraid they’d try and get you to leave.” He confessed, his sad eyes meeting hers once again. “I think that may have done me in.”

 

A weak smile played on her lips, an offering to put his mind at ease. “I made sure to broadcast a big ‘fuck you’ for whichever Frost sister was trying to whisper sweet nothings into our ears. Besides, they already tried to sway me before, convince me I was like them, that we weren’t so different. But even before, even when I was desperate and pissed the hell off to the point where I briefly fell into it with the Brotherhood, I was never a monster.“ She paused, considering carefully how to continue without sounding like she was hopelessly in love and obsessed with him; “Being a part of this makes us all better And that’s largely in part because of you, Proudstar. So, we are going to do this the right way even if it’s the hard, pain in the ass, can’t ever catch a damn break way; even when it sucks major ass. Because it’s going to fucking suck.” She’d had to bite her tongue too much tonight around the children; the curse words were making up for lost time it seemed.

 

She was the only one who could make him smile at a time like this, of that he was sure. Before he could respond she added more seriously, a promised assurance, “I’m not going anywhere.” As she spoke the words, her hands gripped the backs of his biceps, her eyes locking on to his. She needed him to know that in this time of uncertainty, of strife amongst their group, of grave tragedy and loss, he had her, if he wanted. “Where you go, I’ll go.” She meant that, truly. John could lead her into a burning building and she’d follow without a second thought because if she knew there was one thing she could trust and count on in this crazy, fucked up world, it was him.

 

Emotion flooded his eyes once again and he pulled her against him, “Clarice,” He muttered gently before his lips captured hers. His tongue parting her lips, exploring her own, his fingers finding their home in her luscious locks. The kiss may have started gentle but it quickly grew hungry with need. First his own, then hers as well. A soft moan escaped her lips as they broke for air, doing him in. He melted against her, lips moving to explore her neck, hands searching under layers of sweatshirt and t-shirt for access to warm skin. “I’ll always do my best to protect you.” He whispered into the sensitive skin at the crook of her neck.

 

Goosebumps formed on her skin and as good as his lips felt there, she needed to look at him before she spoke. Her hand moved to tug at his hair, then when he glanced up, her fingers traced down to his chin, angling it down so he could look at her. “And I will do what I can to protect you.” She whispered, fingers moving briefly to tap symbolically against his heart before her lips were capturing his once again, although too briefly for either of their liking. Pulling away she placed a gentle hand on his chest, “And I’ll start by making you eat something, then maybe I can convince you to lay down and at least pretend to get some rest.” She raised her eyebrows knowingly at him.

 

“Getting me food and trying to get me to bed? Clarice, is this our first date?” He grinned at her playfully, bumping her shoulder with his own.

 

His words made the wheels in her mind start turning. She finally paid mind to the backpack she’d previously abandoned on the ground near their feet. She dipped her hand inside to produce two slightly squished peanut butter sandwiches wrapped haphazardly in paper towels. “Your deep dish pizza, sir.” She said with mock seriousness, handing him one of the sandwiches, followed by a bottle of water.

 

He knitted his brow in confusion but smiled nonetheless, and decided to play along “Smells delicious.” He took an exaggerated bite, “And it’s still warm!” They shared another genuine smile and once again he found his longed for escape from reality thanks to her.

 

They ate in relative silence, though keeping in constant physical contact the entire time whether it was knees touching, or a hand on the other’s thigh, a gentle brush of elbows. Even after they finished eating they remained there, eyes closed in quiet contemplation for a while. Before too long, she tugged gently at his hand and he let her lead him inside, past the sleeping bodies littering cots at every corner of the way station.

 

There were far more refugees then beds and they’d been among the first to give theirs away. Clarice had taken the extra blankets and made them each small pallets on the floor, near to one another but not too close to be presumptuous.

 

He shed his jacket first, draping it on the back of a broken three-legged chair that shifted under the weight of its new adornment. Clarice had set their bags against the wall and he crossed to his, retrieving a pair of sweat pants to swap for his jeans. At some point she’d disappeared to the bathroom to change into her own sleepwear, returning moments later to find him lying there, facing the wall. She tried to hide her disappointment; if he’d managed to fall asleep it was for the best really. He was in desperate need of sleep that persisted for longer than 45 minutes at a time.

 

She padded her way towards the remaining makeshift bed, the pale moonlight seeping in through the windows guiding the way, laying down and pulling the blanket over herself upon reaching it. She felt her bottom blankets being tugged closer to his and then his arm came around her waist, “Is this alright?” He asked, his voice already heavy with sleep.

 

“More than alright,” She whispered back, snuggling back against what she’d find to be his bare chest. It was, she was sure, the safest place she’d ever been. After a beat of silence she listened to see if his breathe had evened out enough to indicate he was asleep. Finding it hadn’t she chanced calling out to him. “John?” Her voice was gentle and sleepy. She felt him shit enough to confirm he was awake and before waiting to hear from him. “Thank you, for giving me something to believe in.”

 

And though she was quite sure he would assume she meant the Underground, she hoped at least some small part of him would know that she was actually talking about him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your sweet reviews and please leave some for this chapter as well I love to hear what you think! Also, please excuse any inevitable mistakes, I try to catch them all!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love is a many splendored thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's fun to imagine the scenes that could fill in the six month time jump. I'd love to do more chapters of things that happened in the interim, drop a review with your ideas and I will try to incorporate them into future chapters when/if I can :) I love to hear what you think, so please leave a comment. How adorable were they in the season premiere though? 
> 
> ps: Please forgive any mistakes, I try my best to find them all!

The nightmares had started the day she’d been thrown back in to her cell on the night Sonia was shot at Campbell’s facility. The night Sonia was murdered just feet away from where Clarice herself stood. The line between those nightmares and reality had been very blurry in that cell, but had only grown more muddled with each new incidence of war and loss they were forced to confront head on; ready or not.

The sound of the gun firing; of Sonia’s body going limp before collapsing to the floor, the pool of blood that had formed around her as the last wisps of pink smoke escaped her lips– Clarice recalled every bit of the memory in _gravely_ impeccable detail. They were sights and sounds she longed to forget, but ones she knew would haunt her forever. Perhaps it was the sounds of her own strangled sobs and screams, as she stood there helplessly restrained by sentinel guards, unable to stop or help in any way, that haunted her most of all.

She’d cried herself to sleep in her cell that night and that nightmare had come for her almost every single time she’d dared to chance sleep since then. For a long while, it seemed to progress the same way for Clarice: Sonia’s form going lifeless after Campbell shot her in cold blood, him pointing that same gun to her own forehead, a loud _click,_ and then she’d wake up; usually in a cold sweat.

She would never forget the feel of the metal pressed to her temple, still hot from the round that had ended Sonia’s life. Just like she’d never forget John’s winces of pain and sharp intakes of breathe as his back absorbed bullet after bullet that fateful day, when everything had really gone to shit and he’d been the only thing standing between her and the end of her life. 

There would never be words that would be able to fully articulate her appreciation and adoration of his selflessness, though she still wasn’t sure she’d done anything to deserve being the recipient of it. Often, she’d find her mind wandering to a place that asked what might happen if he’d gotten hit enough times that it could actually have caused him lasting harm. Or killed him. The thought alone was enough to send her into a panic. How could she do _any_ of this without John? How could any of them?

The nightmare had now evolved to include those plaguing recollections as well. The sound of the bullets ricocheting in seemingly every direction became deafening, her heart rate quickened, sweat beaded on her brow and neck. The memories of both tragedies became competely interwoven. Instead of seeing Sonia’s body drop lifelessly to the floor, it was John’s she’d see instead. Though he obviously hadn’t died in reality, the feelings of terror and dread produced by the nightmare made it seem all too real and unbearable regardless. 

Even now, eight weeks later, the pictures in her mind would play out in her dreams in extremely vivid, tangibly realistic detail. Her eyes snapped open as she took a ragged breath, unable yet again to process that fine line between nightmare and reality, her anxieties igniting all of her senses at once. When she was sleeping alone, it could take a long time for her to come down from the terrible high of her plaguing distress.

However, even the _slightest_ stir of her body caused John to wake up almost immediately. His voice, still full of sleep, spoke up to reassure her instantly. He was all too familiar with the nightmares by now. It may have taken him awhile to get the truth out of her, but eventually, she’d finally let herself be vulnerable enough to tell him the gory details. “Babe,” Grogginess coated the first word, but the rest followed with more assured clarity, “I’m right here, everything’s fine.” He added, his arm moving to pull her back against his chest, his lips pressing a reassuring kiss to the exposed skin on the nape of her neck. The routine was familiar all too familiar now for comforting her in this exact scenario, when he was lucky enough to find himself entangled in the throws of sleep with her. It had been a more common occurrence in the past few weeks and neither of them were complaining, or taking for granted their time together. Especially when that time was spent _alone._  

The sound of his soothing, even voice was enough to bring her a sense of instantaneous calm. Her breathing slowed and the intense fear she’d just been feeling seemed to dissipate straightaway. After a pause to collect herself, she asked; “Where’s here anyway? I can’t even remember anymore.” Sighing she turned to face him, her eyes trying to adjust to the dark. She snuggled up against his strong, bare chest and buried her face against it, finding further comfort in the familiar scent of him and the comfortable heat she felt radiating off of his rippled form. 

“A hotel room in…” He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to recall. “Shreveport? No that was three nights ago…”

His thinking out loud helped her remember on her own, “Charlotte, North Carolina?” 

He’d buried his fingers in to her hair, tangling in with soothing familiarity against tendrils of dark purple. “Charlotte, that’s right.” He gave a curt nod, which caused a few hands of his hair to spring free. Clarice reached up to tuck them lovingly back behind his ear as he continued to speak, “Heading up towards DC tomorrow. We’ll meet back up with Marcos or one of the Struckers in Annapolis and take the metro in from there.” His eyes narrowed on the clock, which read 3:36 AM in bleary red letters. “Today, actually.” He amended his statement.

Pangs of guilt struck her, this wasn’t the first time one of her terrible dreams had robbed him of much needed and seemingly harder to come by slumber. “Sorry I woke you up. _Again_.” She pressed a soft kiss to middle of his chest just before he managed to snake his arm around her more firmly, pulling her up with ease so his lips could press to hers instead. 

He kissed her with soft, slow intensity before breaking the series of kisses to lean his forehead against hers. “I told you, you don’t have to apologize for that. _Ever_.” He seemed to cut himself off there and his body went slightly rigid. A reaction she’d come to know was an indication he was holding something back. It just took her a little time usually, to figure out exactly what it was.

“What is it?” She asked, bringing her hand to cup his face. Their eyes had adjusted enough to the darkness to see each other somewhat. Still, he leaned in to kiss her gently and then pulled away for a moment, moving to turn on the light next to his side of the bed. What he was about to say, he wanted to really look at her for. 

When he found that the knob of the lamp just turned endless with no productive result, he sighed again, muttered an inaudible string of obviously irritated utterances, and then leaned over her petite frame to the lamp affixed to the nightstand on her side of the queen-sized bed. He was happy to find that it at least flickered on, even if it only managed to cast a rather dull and unimpressive light around them. It would suffice, at least. He could stop stalling. 

“Well, I guess that’ll do.” He seemed nervous, almost agitated. It wasn’t a look she’d often seen the strong, silent, leader wear. It was beyond intriguing. Hell, it was endearing.

“John, what’s-“ He put his hand up and she stopped mid question, and she did so immediately, knowing that he must have something serious to share to interrupt her like that. 

Lest he lose his nerve, he knew he needed to continue without any disturbance. “I love…” He paused and swallowed thickly. Clarice’s breath caught in her throat. Was this about to happen? They’d both imagined how this scenario might play out, even if they hadn’t admitted it to one another. Clearing his throat, John’s voice came back with, “Marcos,” To finish awkwardly, and certainly much to her surprise, and perhaps also her disappointment.

A soft giggle bounced from Clarice’s lips nonetheless, as _that_ was not exactly the confession she was expecting from him in this moment. She could sense there was more he meant to say and though her lips were brimming with sassy comments, she kept her mouth shut, respectfully. 

“Let me…” He swallowed again, wishing he could just start over. “What I was trying to say was,” a slight blush tinted his cheeks, seemingly so misplaced amongst his strong, chiseled features. Yet, it also seemed to highlight the absolute gentleness with which he always handled her, regardless of his superhuman strength and abilities. His nervous tendencies now only endeared her even further. She offered him a sweet encouraging smile, her hand reaching out for his reassuringly. 

That gentle smile gave him the lift he needed to continue. “I love Marcos, he’s my brother, forever. I love Lorna, even though she’s made everything go to absolute shit and I’m a still angry at her for a lot of things.” He digressed before accidentally going off on a tangent and getting distracted from the task at hand. “They are my family. And before we lost them, Gus and Sonia were my family too.” He swallowed again and tugged her petite frame closer to him.

None of this was turning out the way he’d planned in his head. It was why he’d preferred to keep his feelings close to cuff. Yet, he knew Clarice didn’t mind. She didn’t need him to recite poetry for her; she’d just want him to speak from the heart.

And so, he did. Shoving all the preplanned ideas he may have had out of his mind, he just spoke to her, his eyes searching hers longingly. “I used to think that kind of love was all I needed, the love of my chosen family. The love of our people.” He sighed and cast his eyes down towards the slightly yellowed sheets, willing himself to get to the point. “But then, I fell in love with you, Clarice.” His eyes moved back up to meet hers and the love he found radiating back at him overwhelmed him; inspired him to continue. “I have never loved anyone the way I love you Clarice.” His voice was suddenly much softer, smaller somehow, almost shy and reserved. Perhaps it was nervousness for how she’d respond to his state of utmost vulnerability, or maybe it was just the vulnerability itself. 

The sheets had long since shifted away from each of them, and John’s hand found it’s way up to the hem of his t-shirt, which she’d repurposed as a makeshift nightgown. His deft fingers left a trail of goosebumps in their wake, waiting timidly for her response. “Figures I’d be the only weakness of an indestructible man.” She grinned happily, using her feisty, playful demeanor to cut through the thick tension that hung around them before giving him a more apt response. “I am so, ridiculously and completely in love with you, too, John Proudstar.” Her voice was the opposite of his, laced with confidence and conviction as those words she’d longed to divulge for what seemed like awhile now had finally broken free from the depths of her heart, where she’d forcibly locked them away. 

His smile grew to match hers, “Ridiculously and completely, hmm?” He asked, his lips moving to capture hers with a quiet and insurmountable passion, even he hadn’t known he’d been stifling.

Those same, nimble fingers made fast work of the t-shirt he’d been toying with earlier and the rest of their articles of clothing followed suit with a similar fell swoop. Despite making fast work of each other’s clothes, they took painstaking time with each other’s bodies. Hands and lips explored every crevice of skin before finding their way back to each other in ardent connection.

Sure, they’d been together intimately plenty of times by this point, but there was something different about sex with someone you knew was in love with you. It was slower, more passionate, and more purposeful. John was always an incredible and attentive lover, but the absolute care with which he treated her body in this instance left every fiber of her being ignited with pleasure and adoration.

Moans, gasps, and other inaudible confessions of love filled the air around them as their romantic encounter reached its pinnacle with simultaneous release. Her tired, ragged body collapsed against his taut, larger one in a heap of breathy laments and sighs. His hand came to push her hair out of her face and press another longing kiss to the sensitive spot on the side of her neck , a place that he’d discovered just last week drove her utterly insane.

“See,” He spoke again softly into the smooth, warm skin atop her bare shoulder, “I told you, you _never_ have to apologize for waking me up,” His lips caught hers again and kept her own occupied as he leaned back against the pillows, pulling her against him to settle back as well. This was a moment he wanted to memorize forever. His fingers traced soft patterns against her skin, lulling her back into restful slumber.

They’d find themselves drifting off for two more hours of relatively uninterrupted sleep before their pre-set alarm was blaring loudly, letting them know they needed to hit the road again. Quick, _separate_ (how else would they have kept it quick otherwise?) showers later and two to go cups of slightly burnt black coffee from the carafe in the lobby later, they were hitting the road in a well-worn, tan, ’00 jeep Cherokee, headed north.

The past two months had found them in this situation quite often. Hitting the road together as travel companions, partners, lovers, and leaders of what was left of the Underground—it was almost second nature at this point. It was incredible how adept they’d become at anticipating each other’s needs. 

John used to view love as a weakness that would only hold him back from fulfilling his duties. But since falling in love so deeply with Clarice, he’d only found it brought him strength and confidence, both in himself and their cause. More than ever, he had something worth fighting for. A future he desperately wanted for them, and when he dared to let his mind go there, for their _family,_ some day. Hopefully.

He’d driven the first four hours of their nearly seven hour journey before she’d convinced him to switch with her. She’d learned the telltale signs of exhaustion in him. Amongst them, the way his eyelids would grow heavy and his hand would take up permanent residence in his hair, fidgeting nervously to keep himself up and alert. Despite his protests that he wasn’t tired, he’d fallen to sleep within fifteen minutes of letting her taking the wheel.

He looked oddly angelic as he slept, despite his massively muscular form. His arms were gathered in a heap under his head, serving as a makeshift pillow, propped up against the well-worn fabric of the door panel. Strands of his hair escaped from his bun and drooped slightly across his forehead shielding his eyes from the impeding sun that scorched through the windows.

She adjusted her own sunglasses, a constant in her ‘normalcy’ disguise to keep her vivid green irises hidden from those who may wish mutants harm. The blue reflective lenses cast small rainbows against the dashboard, distracting her momentarily, reminding her of the small beauties left that no one, not even armed Sentinel Services soldiers could take away from them.

It was a list they’d kept track of for a couple weeks now; courtesy of one of John’s wise ideas of course. He’d started the list to remind her that there was still good left out there after a failed rescue mission had left a ten year old mutant boy dead at the hands of Agent Turner and his men. John had such a way of dragging other people out of the darkness and misery. With Clarice, it came even more naturally. The memory of him coming up with original idea brought a smile to her face. God damn did she love that man.

Accordingly, she added two items to her mental list of such small beauties: tiny rainbow reflections and John’s sweet sleeping face, though she’d never tell him that the latter had made their running list. Among other highlights already included were crying tears of joy, kissing in the rain, fresh from the dryer warm blankets, good music, and _of course_ ; warm jelly donuts.

She’d trade nearly any of the items on that short list for another hour of making love to him in that dingy, yet; eternally special hotel room, off a random exit in Charlotte, North Carolina. Despite all the strife and straight up war they’d gone through, somehow, she’d found this sliver of hope and beauty that was being _in love_ with John Proudstar.

It was true that Carl and Denise had loved her and she had reciprocated that love, at least on some level. They were the _only_ real family that Clarice had ever truly known before she’d been found by John, Marcos, and Lorna.

But the love she felt for John now overwhelmed her. Just as it did for him, it gave her a renewed sense of strength and confidence in herself. For the first time ever, she was letting herself find moments of actual happiness amongst all the terrible crap they always seemed to find themselves wading through. She knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that it was all because of him.

Then, she thought of Marcos and how alone he must feel since Lorna left. How lost and disrespected he felt not being able to know anything about her or their child. She watched the way that he drew strength from John, when he himself had nothing left within to keep going.

It was in those moments that she’d truly grown to love John. Watching him provide strength for everyone around him physically mentally, and emotionally; reminded her of what an incredible man he was. His mutant abilities weren’t what made him “homosuperior” it was his integrity and character, his heart for those in need. Those qualities set him leagues above anyone else fighting for their cause, and miles beyond anything the Hell Fire Club thought they had to offer mutants. It felt like almost a privilege that he allowed her to provide him the same kind of support he was always giving others. To be trusted with his heart and vulnerabilities was an honor she never knew she longed so wholeheartedly to have.

Two weeks ago, John had tracked Lorna and Andy to DC. In his vision, he saw some vague glass building in the background, but with the epic size of Washington, they knew it would take more than a few weeks to figure anything out. As such, Marcos and the remaining Struckers had gone ahead to scout out secure locations for them all to hunker down and hopefully sort this all out.

Through a network of old friends and connections, they’d found an apartment building run by an older mutant couple, that were willing to cut them all great deals on units and utilities in exchange for help with odd jobs and work around the complex. Within days of their arrival, Marcos had convinced them to open their doors to mutants in need. Now operating as an official part of the Underground’s mission, most of the money they brought in would go back into finding and helping more mutants in need. Even Marcos, shrouded in depression, had considered this a small victory.

Those with more human traits were going to seek out employment around the city in order to make more connections, reach more people, and bring in more money. Meanwhile, Clarice and some of the other more _obvious_ mutants would work running the safehouse processing systems, helping to move mutants to various waystations, getting them the paperwork they needed, and helping them move on as quickly and effectively as possible.

At least, that was the grand plan that Marcos and Caitlyn had been working on for the past few days while John had headed out on various tracking missions. He’d managed to make a case for needing Clarice’s help, though everyone, including her, knew that his underlying intentions were less than professional in nature. Not that she was complaining. And perhaps their happiness was a little bit contagious, even in all the darkness. Their budding love gave the others a little hope in these trying times; gave them all something to route for.

Clarice and John had gotten the signal from Marcos five days ago while out in Louisiana following up on a lead on the Hell Fire Club that turned out to be a dead end. Clarice didn’t mind these road trips at all; they almost felt like small vacations. Well, except for the whole being on the run from a government agency that wanted to either kill them or harness their powers for evil. Or the rouge group of mutants that had essentially turned their own friends against them and always seemed to be one-step ahead of them these days. Yeah, if you could just forget those _small_ details, it was _totally_ a vacation.

In spite of herself, she must’ve been smiling because John stirred awake next to her and caught her in the act. “What are you grinning about?” He asked, sitting up and stretching his arms up over his head as much as the low ceiling would allow. He peaked at the clock and noticed he’d been asleep a little over an hour. He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of admitting she was right about him being tired though, he did give an all too telling smile of his own that acknowledged it nevertheless.

“How terrible, weird, and yet strangely beautiful this life still is.” She said, reaching over to grab his hand and squeeze it gently. “You _love_ me.” She added on, with an almost teasing tone. “Say it again,” She requested, this time, her tone laced with a more wistful innocence. She longed to be wrapped in the safety of those words again.

He smirked, rolling his eyes a little at her antics, though he was honestly happy to oblige. As hard as it may have been to articulate the first time, it fell from his lips now with an almost practiced ease. “I love you, Clarice.” He grinned gently, his hand moving to rest on her thigh as he shifted his position in the seat, angling his body towards hers. That was something she’d never tire of hearing, she was absolutely certain of that.

“And I love… _Marcos_.” She giggled softly, mimicking the earlier sentiment from his love confession in the wee hours of the morning. He rolled his eyes with good-humored annoyance at her again but truthfully, it only made him love her that much more. Besides, she knew how to say I love you in other, less obvious ways.

Suddenly, it was if a long suppressed idea struck her, and she pursed her lips contemplatively as though she might evaluate her thought before letting it out, but that didn’t quite happen. It rarely did when it was just the two of them. “Maybe we can,” This time, her snarky bite failed her and it was her turn to speak with nervous worry, “…move in together in DC?” She wasn’t exactly sure how the sleeping arrangements were going to work in this new place, but Marcos had said some vague things about private bedrooms and she’d been fantasizing ever since about the domestic bliss they might create together, even if it were only for a little while.

Relief washed over his features. Actually, that was a perfect idea. Marcos had even hinted that he had a one bedroom apartment he’d saved for John and himself, but that if John would rather room with _someone_ else, he had no problem finding accommodations elsewhere. “I’ve been trying to figure out a way to ask you exactly that for the entire car ride.” He admitted earnestly, grinning over at her in a way that made him impossibly more attractive.

“That smile,” She practically melted into the seat as it spread across his face. She beamed happily at him, shaking her head in quiet appreciation. “I’m adding it to the list. It’s literally sunshine on a rainy, cloudy day.” Her hand moved to join his where it sat comfortably atop her upper thigh. “You’re actually such a beautiful man that it sometimes give me a complex. I mean, that hair? Pfft!” She drew his hand up to her lips and feathered kisses against his knuckles, her eyes still trained on the road ahead of her.

He never thought that romantic words would make his heart flutter, but they were so raw, genuine, and real coming from her; that it made him feel safe and cared for in ways he’d never known he could be. Or needed to be, for that matter. It fascinated and frightened him all at once. “Then I get to add,” He moved his own thumb up to stroke the patches of purple that outlined her eye, “this beautiful reminder of the strong, resilient woman you are.” 

She blushed and cleared her throat, warmness seeping out from her heart to her cheeks. “Many would argue that this is anything but beautiful.” She appreciated the sweet sentiment of his words, but couldn’t help but feel begrudged by anger. “I have to hide it, to keep us safe or Sentinel Service’s will use it for target practice.”

How he hated that she had to fell this way. To him, it was still beautiful, regardless of what some close-minded, bigoted humans might think. “ Fuck them anyway.” He said boldly, borrowing one of her favorite words to emphasize his point. “One day, you won’t Clarice. One day, _everyone_ will recognize how beautiful it truly is. How incredible we all are. How much our people can help not just each other, but humankind as well. Despite everything with the Cuckoos and Lorna, with Sentinel Services; with all the losses we’ve faced. Or maybe, it’s _in spite_ of all that. _You_ make me believe we can still get there one day, the right way.” His tongue peaked out to wet his lips. “ _You_ make me want to create that world more than ever.”


End file.
